The words flowed through Roy's head, in one ear and out the other. Because something had to be wrong, he was reading them in the incorrect order.

It wasn't true, was it?

He read through the report again, this time with swimming eyes. When he finished, he pounded a fist into his desk, jaw and eyes clenched.

But the tears escaped anyway.

It was so typical of the boy, wasn't it? Going after a chimera—a fucking fish chimera—as it swam away…only Edward had forgotten about his automail, the heavy metal that weighed him down, dragged him into the deep…

Roy gasped, forcing his eyes open. He could picture his little lover's last moments only too clearly.

There was a knock on the door, and Hawkeye immediately rushed in. "Sir, I just received the report—"

"I'm going home," Roy managed, keeping his eyes downcast. He couldn't think straight, couldn't speak—he didn't want anyone to see him like this—

The Lieutenant stepped aside without a word.

Apparently, the news had spread fast through the office, as no one stopped Roy and the cloud of despair that followed him. Everyone simply glanced at him, their eyes full of pity. On any other day, Roy would have fried their desks for that.

As it was, he had no idea how he made it home.

Roy collapsed against his door, memories assaulting him. He and Ed had lived here, loved here…made love pretty much everywhere. He was almost sure he could hear the blonde's little moans…

Roy shook his head, the tears spilling over his eyelids once more. He leaned heavily on the sofa, the table for support as he kept moving.

Would it hurt worse to try to avoid the memories, or immerse himself in them?

Roy didn't get to choose, his feet moving with a mind of their own towards the bathroom. That was a good choice—there was a sick smell rising in the back of his throat, this morning's breakfast hoping to make a reappearance…

Stumbling into the bathroom, blind from his tears, Roy fell to his knees in front of the toilet. He sobbed, heaved, tried to ignore the sickening splash. And he was still bawling, the emotions bursting from him, burning his raw throat. Again, he heaved, but there was nothing left for his stomach to rid itself of.

He had to calm down before he hurt himself.

Roy took deep breaths, tried to think of something other than Edward—yeah, that wasn't going to happen. Instead, he remembered, thinking of the boy's smiling face, the way he looked when Roy first woke up in the morning, still so peaceful in sleep…

He refused to let himself think of the fact that he wouldn't get any of that anymore.

Finally, the sobs stopped. Roy panted, tears still falling down his face. With great effort, he pulled himself up, looked in the mirror—

Ugh. Vomit and bile trailed down his chin, his throat, spotting his otherwise clean uniform...he needed a shower.

Having a mission, even one this small, was good for Roy; it kept his mind relatively clear. He could focus on the buttons, removing his boots, his pants, his shirt methodically.

Roy pulled aside the shower curtain, turned on the water—steaming hot. He stepped—no, he had to get a towel first.

Turning, Roy grabbed a towel from the rack, hanging it over the bar next to the shower. There. He looked back to the shower—

His heart skipped a beat.

Edward, precious, beautiful Edward, was sitting in the bottom of his shower, watching him.

"Ed!" Roy gasped, leaning forward. The spray hit his head, soaking his hair, but what did he care? "Ed, I thought you were dead!"

The blonde smiled at him, and Roy couldn't help it. He placed his hand on the boy's cheek…

And it sunk right through. Roy was now wrist deep in his lover's head.

He screamed, jerking his arm back. Roy shut his eyes tight, trying to control his erratic breathing. He rubbed a hand over his face, hesitantly opening his eyes…

Ed was gone.

Roy stepped into the shower, sliding down the wall and curling into a ball right where his hallucination had sat.

And he cried.

The funeral was closed-casket. Roy knew better than to take a last glance at Ed; besides, even though the undertaker had fixed him up, Roy didn't want to remember the boy lying cold and immobile, pale from his drowning. He wanted to remember him warm and smiling, more full of life than anyone else Roy knew…

Everyone knew he was crying throughout the ceremony—how could he not be?—but Roy was thankful for the rain, masking him and his grief even just slightly.

By the time he managed to tear his eyes off the coffin, it was just Hawkeye and Alphonse standing next to him. Roy supposed he should have tried to comfort Al, but in all honestly, he didn't have it in him to shoulder the burden of the brother's sorrow as well as his own.

Finally, he looked up, out across the cemetery. Almost like magic, his gaze zeroed in on a person walking toward them…a blonde.

It was instinct. Roy began to run, dodging gravestones, a very confused duo racing behind him, calling for him to slow down, asking where he was going…but didn't they see him?

For the closer Roy got to the person, the surer he was that it was Edward!

"Ed," he cried out, voice strangled. "Ed, what the hell? Weren't you—" The image before him disappeared, a last, small grin on his face. "Where did you go?"

Alphonse caught up to him first. "What are you doing?"

Roy turned to him, frantic, pulling at the boy's collar. "You saw him, too, right!? Where'd he go!?"

Then the Lieutenant was there, pulling his hands free from Al. "Sir, what are you talking about?"

"Edward!" Roy yelled, frustrated. The longer they pretended, the longer he had to get away… "He was right here, walking towards me…"

"Sir," Hawkeye said slowly. "There was no one there."

Oh. Oh. Just like in the shower.

"Yes," Roy whispered, a fresh wave of tears falling even as the rain dried up, reduced to a drizzle and then nothing. "Of course. Just a hallucination. Forgive me."

It rained again that night. Somehow, curled up—desolate in the lonely position—Roy knew he should avoid the rain. Something about the water, the source of Ed's demise, brought out the images…

But he couldn't stay away.

He walked into the kitchen for a drink—a strong one—and lo and behold, on the way he glanced out a window. And there was Ed, walking down the street, pausing outside Roy's house…even from this distance, Roy could see the grin on the boy's face.

In an instant, he had grabbed the telephone, scrabbling to keep hold of it. He dialed—

"Riza Hawkeye."

"He's here again!" Roy wailed.

"Sir? Who's there?"

"Ed!" Roy couldn't stifle his sobs. "Edward's outside my house, he's just smiling at me—"

"Sir," Hawkeye interrupted. "I think you should see someone about this. These hallucinations, they aren't healthy…"

"No!" he shrieked. "No, I don't need a shrink, I just need Edward back!" Roy slammed the phone down, breathing hard and watching the blonde sit down in the street, still watching, still smiling.

He didn't want help. Because the only thing that could be worse than these illusions was losing the last glimpses of Ed he had.

Roy lasted a week. His lover followed him wherever there was water, when it rained, when he showered, when they drove past a stream or even just a puddle…Edward was inescapable.

Not that Roy particularly wanted to escape him. In fact, he began to crave the blonde's appearances, getting to see Ed again even if it wasn't real. The only problem was, he wanted more.

And he was going to get it.

Roy drove himself to the river where the boy had died. It looked so offensively normal, as though the death of such a wondrous person didn't matter at all…

He grabbed a boulder from the side, tied it to his foot. Ed was there again, haunting his death scene. Only this time he wasn't smiling, he was crying.

"No, Ed, shh," Roy whispered comfortingly as he dragged himself to the river's edge. It was deep here, no shallow decline into the water but rather a submerged cliff. "It's alright. I know you're dead, but I'm going to be with you again, you'll see. It's okay. I love you."

And he reached for the boy, his perfect mirage dissipating in his hug.

That was fine. It wouldn't be long now.

With a final heave, Roy threw the boulder in, the momentum and weight pulling him under the current as well.

He sunk fast. Eager as he was, Roy was surprised by his complete inability to stop trying to hold his breath. His traitorous body wanted to live, but it wouldn't get its way—it couldn't go without air forever.

Lungs burning, Roy was proved right. He gasped, water filling his insides even as he sunk ever deeper. It burnt, he coughed, inhaling at the same time. A very different fire than he was used to, but still just as consuming. The pain was eating him alive, much like the blackness at the edges of his vision. Somehow, impossibly, tears pricked his eyes. Had this been what Ed had experienced? How dreadful.

More fire, a suffocating pressure from depth and no air. Roy couldn't move, everything was frozen, waiting to be consumed by liquid flames, and the blackness closing in—

Please excuse me while I go cry ;A;

I'm almost sorry for this...except I really loved the idea when it came to me. Here, have a tissue.

Let me know what you think...if you can still type. Me, I'm making crazy amounts of typos at the moment with all the feels.